


gift

by TheThirdTemptationOfParis



Category: The Penumbra Podcast
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Juno Steel Needs a Hug, Let them be Soft, Other, Season 3 Episode 2: Juno Steel and the Man in Glass (Part 2), a whole hell of a lot apparently, what's in a name?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-08
Updated: 2020-07-08
Packaged: 2021-03-04 17:40:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,127
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25140268
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheThirdTemptationOfParis/pseuds/TheThirdTemptationOfParis
Summary: Just because the name’s on your birth certificate doesn’t mean it’s worth anything! You pick up a new name with your groceries every week!A word of advice to the crass detective: it’s not kind to tell someone that their gift means nothing to you. Of course my name is worth something! That name is very nearly my only weakness and I’m risking it all. Here. On you.An apology.
Relationships: Peter Nureyev/Juno Steel
Comments: 10
Kudos: 81





	gift

Juno stood outside of the door to Nurey— Ransom’s room on the Carte Blanche for several minutes. He considered pacing back and forth, considered going back to his own room, considered a lot of things, but he knew he needed to talk to him, needed to apologize. He had been trying to since he got there, but Ransom wouldn’t hear it. And Juno could admit that trying to talk about it during a heist wasn’t really the best idea he’d ever had.

So instead of retreating, he stepped forward.

He knocked on the door.

He waited with baited breath, squeezing his eye shut, just waiting… waiting…

“Yes, come in, come in.”

He slid the door open, his breath still trapped in his throat, and dear god he hoped his vocal chords still worked, “Hey there…”

In the span of an awkward pause, memories of a night that seemed a lifetime ago sprang forth from a crack in Juno’s mind.

_Just because the name’s on your birth certificate doesn’t mean it’s worth anything! You pick up a new name with your groceries every week!_

_A word of advice to the crass detective: it’s not kind to tell someone that their gift means nothing to you. Of course my name is worth something! That name is very nearly my only weakness and I’m risking it all. Here. On you._

His name, his real name, is a gift. Juno has no right to use that name, not now, not after everything he had done to the man standing in front of him. The man he hadn’t even fully looked at yet. He’s standing mere feet away, the closest he’d been since they returned from Zolotovna’s ball, and Juno _still_ couldn’t look up at him.

So he did. He pulled his gaze up to Ransom’s face, still not having the strength to meet his eye, and let the name that really doesn’t fit quite right fall from his lips.

“Oh just close the door and drop the silly moniker. I already regret choosing it.” 

And Juno realized that the man in front of him, the Thief Without a Name, couldn’t meet his eye either. He looked away, hands contorted and folded into each other in front of him. It’s so… _different_ from the image of Rex Glass, the image of Monsieur Dauphin, that Juno knew who he was really looking at. And yet he still couldn’t bring himself to say it.

_If I lose this hand, I’m telling him my name. Do you understand what that means for me?_

_Of course my name is worth something!_

_...a gift._

“Okay, Peter, then—”

“And not that either,” he interrupted, “Everyone who’s ever called me Peter has wanted to be my parent. Even if I’ve only let a few fit the role. So please, just call me what you used to.”

_...doesn’t mean it’s worth anything!_

_Of course my name is worth something! My birth name… links me to things it’s best everyone forgot._

_I’m risking it all. Here. On you._

“But, your name…” Juno started, only to be interrupted again.

“I’ve already torn the room apart looking for recording devices, and there are none. Just close the door, if you would.” He motioned into the room, still not looking Juno in the eye. So Juno did as he was told, the door sliding quietly closed behind him.

“I want to start by apologizing. I don’t… I can’t call you by your name. I don’t deserve the right. I messed up that night with Engstrom. I shouldn’t have said the things I did, and I’m sorry.”

The Thief Without a Name looked shocked for a moment, a hand coming to rest over his heart. For the first time since they saw each other in the settling dust, he didn’t look overtly angry. He looked… sad, and Juno couldn’t bring himself to parse why.

“ _Juno…_ ” 

And dear _god_ his name just sounds right in that mouth, like it’s at home, like those pointed, glinting teeth were sculpted _just so_ to make the first syllable sound just right, the whole of it rounded despite the harsh line that so often finds a home among the planes of that familiar face. And it cemented everything in Juno’s mind. There was no way that that gift of a name found the same home in Juno’s mouth. 

It sat right at the back of his throat, like it was just waiting for him to find the strength to open his mouth and let it out. He wanted to, so badly that it _burned_ , but he couldn’t. He was given a gift and he threw it back, called it worthless, didn’t think of the risks of having that name become so familiar, didn’t think, didn’t think—

Then there were hands on his face, one thumb skirting just under the patch covering the empty socket, deft fingers just barely breaching his hairline, and he’s right there. There were tears in his eyes, his eyes that looked directly into Juno’s, held him there as he said, “Say it, Juno. Please, say my name.”

“ _Nureyev…_ ”

And it fell so easily, so gently, barely above a whisper, and Nureyev is still holding his face, pulling their foreheads together. “Again. Please.”

“Nureyev,” Juno said, his hands moving to Nureyev’s hips, pausing just briefly, unsure if he’s allowed. But Nureyev didn’t flinch.

“Juno Steel.”

And Juno understood. He said it again. “Peter Nureyev.”

They stayed there for a few moments, holding each other after so long apart, that Juno felt he may start profusely apologizing again if one of them didn’t say something soon. Nureyev beat him to the punch.

“Juno Steel, I gave you my name because even that first night, I trusted that you would keep it safe. That you would keep _me_ safe. I don’t hold it against you, Juno. And I know this is a different situation, that we’ll have to be more careful, but I trust you. I trust that we’ll find our way through.”

Nureyev’s blunt nails scraped their way through the short hairs at the base of Juno’s skull, comforting lines imprinting themselves on Juno’s nerves. He leaned into it, turning his head to kiss one of Nureyev’s palms, one of his own hands coming up to hold it in place.

“Nureyev, I have so much more to apologize for. Like—”

Nureyev shook his head, the hand not held in Juno’s ceasing its ministrations to trace around the curve of his ear.

“Save them for later. Just stay here with me, Juno.”

And his name still sounded the same, round and soft and whole. He nodded, kissing Nureyev’s palm again. 

Peter Nureyev. The Thief Without a Name. A gift that Juno Steel was finally starting to believe he deserved.


End file.
